The Best Dundies Ever
by shan21
Summary: What if Pam refused to let Angela drop her off at home after the Dundies? Cross-posted on MTT. Now COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own a laptop and a box of Poptarts. And the Poptarts are stale. That is all.  
A/N: I had a ridiculously good time writing from Angela's POV. Also, my beta uncgirl is amaaaaaaaazing. 

Angela Martin was not amused.

The only part of the night for which she could be thankful was that the Party Planning Committee could take no credit for the Dundies. Michael insisted on organizing the event all by himself, which explained why it was such a horrendous failure.

Angela wasn't sure what was worse: receiving that disgusting award, listening to Michael's morally and ethically offensive standup routine, or watching Pam make an absolute fool of herself while simultaneously besmirching the sacred bonds of marriage… or at least engagement. And to do so by throwing herself at a mischief-making slacker in perpetual need of a haircut! Pathetic.

Angela began to pull her car around to the front of Chili's to pick Pam up. Of course. Because she was always the designated driver, and inevitably her services would be required by one of her irresponsible coworkers. No doubt Pam would "forget" to give her gas money. True, Pam only lived ten minutes away, but there's a little thing called gratitude.

As she rounded the corner, Angela couldn't help the, "Oh dear lord" that escaped her lips in an irritated hiss. Pam was practically hanging off of Jim again. Disgusting.

Pursing her lips determinedly, Angela prepared to lean on her horn if need be in order to save Pam from losing her last shred of propriety. Luckily, some faint instinct of decency must have kicked in, because when the headlights found her, Pam had the good grace to look a little less whorish, and she hurried into the car.

Angela did not emit so much as a "Hello" as Pam slipped into the passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt with a distinct lack of coordination. She positively reeked of alcohol. Well, she wasn't Meredith bad, but she was bad. Angela rolled her window down, throwing Pam an accusatory glance as she did so.

The first five minutes of the ride passed in silence, which was ideal for Angela. She wanted nothing more than to get Pam out of her car so that she was free to go home, draw herself a bath, and scrub away the remnants of yet another night of unashamed debauchery in the company of her boss and coworkers.

She should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

Pam leaned her head back on her headrest and focused on the ceiling of the car's interior. She sighed and closed her eyes.

"I'm a chicken," she said miserably.

Angela frowned. Well, she was already frowning, but her scowl deepened in both physical appearance and emotional intensity. She couldn't understand what Pam was referring to.

"You were a lot of things tonight, Pam," she replied stiffly. Slut, harlot, sloppy drunk, embarrassment to women everywhere, she listed mentally.

Pam seemed preoccupied with her own thoughts, however; thoughts which she was, unfortunately, continuing to vocalize with slightly slurred speech.

"I was going to ask Jim if I wasn't with Roy if he'd…" she trailed off for a moment and frowned. "But I didn't. I just said thanks. I'm such a chicken."

Angela blinked very slowly and tried to keep herself from whipping around to pin Pam with a furious glower. She failed.

"Pam! You are engaged!" she hissed urgently, hoping to cut Pam off now before the conversation slipped any further into moral degeneracy.

Pam sighed deeply.

"I know," she replied, but instead of sounding apologetic, she sounded… sad.

Angela had no way to respond. She was afraid that any reply could trigger a downward spiral ending with Pam renouncing her engagement altogether.

So she gripped the steering wheel tighter and hoped that Pam was drunk enough that she would just drift off to sleep for the rest of the ride to her house.

"He's so great," Pam said after a long pause.

Angela said a prayer of thanks.

"Yes," she exclaimed. "He is. Thank goodness you're finally remembering that you are an engaged woman!"

Pam tilted her head toward Angela.

"What?" she asked dumbly.

"Roy is a good, strong, faithful man," Angela rushed to expound. "And his hair is a respectable length," she added.

Pam frowned.

"No! Not Roy," she said with a frustrated shake of her head.

Angela's eyes widened. She didn't have to ask who Pam was referring to, but Pam supplied the answer anyway.

"Jim," she said, sounding faraway, almost wistful. "He's so great."

Angela let out a horrified sigh, turning away in absolute repulsion.

"I will not have this conversation!" she whisper-yelled. "If you want to spew adulterous thoughts on your own time that's your prerogative, but this is a sin free space!"

"He's just so funny, you know?" Pam continued obliviously. Angela threw her head back in exasperation.

"And sweet," Pam persisted. "Like, he would never have tried to get me to leave Chili's. If I said I wanted to stay there all night he'd stay with me."

The urge to pull the car over and push Pam out almost overcame Angela at that moment.

"Fantasizing about sleeping with Jim in a Chili's is. Not. Appropriate!" she said sternly, keeping her eyes focused in the direction of Pam's house, only a quarter mile down the road.

"No, not sleeping with him," Pam said, shaking her head forcefully. "Just staying overnight at Chili's. Hypothe…tetically. Wait… I think I said that word wrong."

Angela pursed her lips and willed the driveway to move a bit closer.

"I hope for your sake that the alcohol has caused a momentary lapse in your moral fortitude and that you would never be thinking these things otherwise," she said in a stiff monotone.

Something in Pam seemed to snap, because the next thing Angela knew, she was being almost shouted at.

"So Roy can just talk about how he wants to be with Katy the purse girl when I'm sitting right next to him, but I can't say that Jim is a great guy?!" Pam cried.

Startled, Angela looked over to see Pam leaning forward in her seat, pinning Angela with furious eyes.

"What? What are you…" Angela trailed off, unsure of how to diffuse the situation.

Luckily, she didn't have to say anything. A moment later Pam leaned back in her seat and Angela heard the same dreamy tone of voice.

"He's so great," she repeated, smiling.

"So is Roy," Angela said quietly.

Pam made a skeptical grunting noise, which Angela chose to ignore. They were finally rounding the corner into Pam's driveway.

She put the car in park and looked down at the wheel, eyebrows drawn tightly together. Hoping desperately that Pam would just see herself out, she waited. But Pam didn't move from the passenger seat.

"We're here," Angela said unnecessarily. Another pause. "I'll help you to your door."

She unbuckled her seatbelt, but when she reached for the door, Pam's voice stopped her.

"I don't want to go," she replied, sounding almost like a child.

Angela sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Pam, you cannot sleep in my car. Come on," she said in annoyance.

"No," Pam said stubbornly. "I'm mad at him. We're fighting. He doesn't ever listen to me, Angela!"

"I'm sure you two will work it out," Angela replied impatiently.

Pam crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead determinedly.

"I'm not going in there," she said firmly.

Angela fought the urge to scream. What could she do? At only ninety pounds, it was doubtful that she could drag a struggling Pam out of her car. She could go inside and get Roy to help her, but she didn't want to get caught in the middle of some sort of unseemly domestic dispute. Having to give a witness statement would completely ruin her night.

"You cannot come home with me," Angela finally said, trying to keep her voice even. "My cats have conjunctivitis, and I only have one set of goggles."

Pam frowned.

"You wear goggles in your house?"

"Well, I don't want to get pink eye!" Angela said defensively. Did Pam expect her to just go wandering around the house with thirteen infected cats and hope that she didn't catch such an extremely contagious virus?

"Besides, even if I did have goggles, I'm too busy taking care of them when I get home to tend to any guests. I have to use a cotton ball covered in a homemade saline solution on each of their eyes to help wash away the viral particles. And Sprinkles has developed Feline Idiopatic Cystitis so she pees everywhere and I have to spend a good hour disinfecting the house each evening."

Pam finally looked at Angela, and her expression was one of horror.

"I don't want to go home with you," she blurted.

"Well praise the lord," Angela snarled. "Get out."

"No," Pam said immediately.

Angela considered calling on a certain volunteer sheriff from the office. He seemed like a sensible, helpful person. Surely he would know what to do in this sort of situation.

"I want to go to Jim's," Pam said, interrupting Angela's thoughts.

Angela felt as though her head might pop off and land in one of her cup holders. Would the depravity of this night never end?

"No. Absolutely not. I will not facilitate adultery," she proclaimed, completely scandalized.

Pam's eyes seemed to expand in her head, as though she was shocked by Angela's accusation.

"Not adultery! No, not…" Pam's voice trailed off for a moment and she started to shake her head.

"Why do you want to go to Jim's?" Angela demanded.

"Just to… to not be here. I can't… Angela, Jim is my best friend. Nothing is going to happen," Pam insisted.

"Just like how nothing happened tonight at Chili's?" Angela challenged.

Pam paused with her mouth half open. Her eyes drifted down to the floor and her brows met in concentration. She really didn't remember, Angela realized.

"What?" Pam finally asked.

Angela could not believe what she was seeing. Pam was so drunk tonight that she didn't even remember cheating on her fiancé.

For a moment, Angela thought it might be best not to tell Pam at all. She could remain blissfully ignorant to her sin. In the end, however, she decided that Pam had to face her actions, especially since she seemed to think that spending the night with Jim wasn't dangerous.

"You kissed him, Pam," Angela said matter-of-factly. "In front of the whole office, you threw yourself at him and kissed him."

Pam's already half-open mouth fell completely open.

"I kissed him?" she gasped. And then Angela could tell that the memory was flooding back to her. She took a shaky breath, and when she spoke again, she sounded bewildered, but not at all upset.

"I kissed him," she repeated.

"Go inside now. With your fiancé," Angela urged sensibly.

Pam snapped out of whatever daze she was in and fixed Angela with the most sober look she'd managed all night.

"Please, Angela. I can't deal with Roy tonight. I just want to be with my best friend," she said simply.

Angela considered the request again. It would get Pam out of her hair for the night. However, it could also lead to a more serious transgression. Pam's voice interrupted Angela's inner debate.

"I am not leaving this car unless you take me to Jim's," she declared.

Oh to heck with it all, Angela thought, surprising herself with her own vulgar language. She was so sick of sitting in this driveway arguing with an unreasonable drunk.

"Fine," she said testily. "But I am speaking to Jim before I leave you in his care."

Pam eyed her warily before finally consenting.

"Fine," she parroted.

Angela put her seatbelt back on and shifted the car into reverse. Before backing out of the driveway she looked again at Pam.

"Well?" she prompted.

"Well, what?" Pam asked.

Angela rolled her eyes for what must have been the hundredth time that night.

"I don't know where he lives," she snapped.

"Oh. Okay," Pam said sheepishly.

The directions she gave were simple enough, and Angela was so furious that she refused to speak to Pam for the entire ride. It wasn't until they were actually pulling into his driveway that something occurred to Angela.

"How did you know how to get to his house?" she asked, unable to keep the accusation out of her question.

"He left his iPod at work once and I brought it to him," Pam supplied. "I've never been beyond the doorway," she added defensively.

Not sure if she believed that statement, Angela nevertheless unbuckled her seatbelt and made her way toward the front door, not bothering to wait for Pam. She could stumble in the driveway for all Angela cared at this point.

It was not Jim who came when Angela rang the doorbell, but a shorter man with dark hair. If Pam was so drunk that she directed Angela to the wrong house, she was leaving Pam there, Jim or no Jim.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, peering over Angela's shoulder, Angela assumed at Pam.

"Does Jim Halpert live here?" Angela demanded.

The man frowned.

"Yeah. Hold on." The door closed halfway, and the man shouted inside, "Jim! There are two girls here for you!"

Angela was gravely offended.

"We are not girls. We are ladies," she sniped. "Well, one of us is."

In less than thirty seconds, Jim appeared in the doorway. His eyes locked on Angela first, then on Pam behind her.

"Angela? Pam?" he said, clearly confused. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

Pam was about to reply, when Angela cut her off.

"Pam, please go inside and sit down. I am going to speak with Jim," she ordered, pointing to the door.

Pam looked at Jim, then back to Angela, and then back to Jim again. Whatever she was going to say died on her lips, and she dutifully slipped through the door, Jim stepping aside to let her pass.

"Angela, what is going on?" Jim asked again, looking more confused than ever.

"Pam asked—forced me to take her here," Angela said crossly. "She and Roy are apparently fighting and she wouldn't go home."

"Oh. I didn't know they were fighting," Jim, glancing back to where Pam must have been sitting in his house.

"Yes, well… She wanted to stay somewhere else for the night and she would only give me your house as an option," Angela continued hurriedly.

Jim's eyebrows met his hairline, but he quickly recovered.

"That's… no, it's totally cool. She can stay here," he replied evenly.

Okay. It was time to set the ground rules.

"Jim," Angela said sharply. She waited for Jim to focus on her completely. "Pam is engaged," she said slowly.

One corner of Jim's mouth curled up in the beginnings of a smirk.

"I know that, Angela," he said indulgently, nodding slowly.

"No matter what she says, you should remember that," Angela continued.

"Ooookay," he replied. He was looking at her as if she was crazy for telling him any of this.

"It's extremely inappropriate for an engaged woman to spend the night in another man's house," Angela insisted.

"Angela—" Jim began, but Angela cut him off. Now was not the time for him to feign ignorance. They both knew the danger here.

"She's still drunk. She's not thinking clearly. Anything you do with her in this condition would be considered taking advantage of her in any court of law," Angela cautioned, making the threat clear.

Jim's posture changed completely. His smirking visage transformed into a frown that communicated great insult.

"Angela, I'm not going to 'take advantage' of Pam. We're friends!" he exclaimed.

Angela pursed her lips, unmoved by his defense.

"Certain occurrences from earlier this evening would suggest otherwise," she alluded.

Jim sputtered for a moment, unable to come up with a response. It appeared that he was completely surprised that Angela would bring up the kiss.

"She kissed me," he finally managed to spit out. "And she was drunk, like you said. It didn't mean anything. If Kevin was the one standing there, she would have kissed him."

Neither of them was convinced by this explanation. Angela knew it and so did Jim. Rather than dignify his excuse with a response, she said what she knew she had to.

"It is against my better judgment that I am leaving her here. Do not make me regret this."

Jim met her eyes and Angela could tell he was taking her seriously.

"I won't," he answered softly.

Nodding curtly, Angela decided that she had done all that she could.

"I have to go disinfect my cats' eyes and remove the urine stains from my carpet," she said by way of goodbye.

She spun on her heel and strode back to her car. She heard Jim call out, "Sounds like you have a busy night planned," but she did not turn back around.

As she turned the key in the ignition, she knew that she might have just made a terrible mistake. She could only hope that either Jim was enough of a gentleman to keep his word, or, more likely, that Pam would pass out before any further sins were committed.

God help them all.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you so much to uncgirl for the super fast beta! I sort of miss writing from Angela's POV but Jim and Drunk!Pam are fun too :)

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He watches Angela walk determinedly back to her car. As her headlights shrink in the distance, the reality of the situation hits him.

_Pam is in my house. __Pam__. She made Angela take her here instead of home to Roy. She's sitting on my couch right now, and she's going to spend the night. Here. In my house. Possibly in my bed. While I'm on the couch, but still. Oh my god. Pam is spending the night. Okay, deep breath._

Closing the door gingerly, he turns back to the living room. There she is, seated on his couch with her legs tucked under herself. Mark is saying something to her, and then he walks into the kitchen.

She's looks up and catches him staring. A small, sheepish smile flits across her face, mirroring his. Summoning every ounce of cool that he possesses, he manages to get all the way over to her without tripping over his own two feet.

"Hi," he says, leaning against the couch in a way that he hopes looks casual.

"Hey," she replies.

"How are you doing?" he asks.

He takes note of her slightly bloodshot eyes (_still beautiful_, he thinks).

"I'm fine. I'm really good. Great," she babbles, nodding enthusiastically. She's doing that thing that girls in college did all the time; trying to pass for sober and overcompensating.

Jim's mouth quirks up. He tilts his head at her.

"Pam," he starts, and there is laughter and playful admonishment in his voice. "You can't act sober in front of the guy who saw you completely wasted about thirty minutes ago."

She smiles and hangs her head for a second, letting out a half-sigh, half-laugh. After a moment, she raises her eyes back to meet his.

"Okay. Honestly? The room is going like this," she replies, holding out her hands and jerking them like she's holding a steering wheel and making repeated sharp turns.

"Ah, the spins. They can sneak up on you. Here, I'll get a bucket just in case you need it… Unless—do you just want to go to bed?"

"No, I'm not tired," she states immediately.

_Good._

"I'll be right back," he promises.

He gets up and enters the kitchen. Mark is there, filling up a tall glass with tap water.

"Hey, man," he says in greeting. "Pam said she needed some water, so…" he gestures at the glass in his hand. "That is Pam, right? _The_Pam?"

"Yeah. Thanks. She's still out on the couch," Jim replies, grabbing a pot from one of the lower cabinets.

"I'm going to head over to Steph's for the night. I figure you might want the house to yourself," Mark says from the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

Jim pauses in the middle of inverting a plastic bag inside the pot. Suddenly his face is hot.

"It's not like that, man. She's just crashing here because she had a fight with her boyfriend," he explains.

"Fiancé," Mark corrects him.

Jim regrets ever telling Mark anything about Pam.

"Whatever," he says, waving a dismissive hand. "You don't have to leave."

For some reason Jim feels that it is imperative to make Mark believe him. It's like the times when, as a kid, his older brother would tease him about liking a girl and he would get himself all worked up trying to deny it. Of course, these situations often led to Jim getting so frustrated that he tried to convince his brother with his fists, and since he was younger and smaller, this usually resulted in Jim running to his mom with a bloody nose.

Jim is fairly certain that he can take Mark in a fight, but luckily Mark doesn't press the issue.

"Nah, it's cool. Steph is always bugging me to go over to her place anyways," he says nonchalantly. "She told me you have cooties." Mark states this last bit of information as if it is grave news.

"Yeah, I got them from your mom," Jim retorts.

Mark laughs and flips him off before retreating back into the living room to deliver Pam's water. Once the plastic bag is secure inside the pot, Jim follows. Pam is still on the couch, sipping her water, but Mark is nowhere to be seen.

"He went upstairs to pack," Pam says, as if reading Jim's thoughts.

Jim nods.

"Here's your little safety bucket," he says, plopping the pot down on the carpet next to Pam.

She is sitting on the far end of the couch and he seats himself on the opposite armrest, because it feels dangerous to actually sit on the couch next to her.

Pam eyes the bucket for a moment. When she speaks again, it looks as though she is addressing the bucket and not him.

"I can go," she says abruptly.

"What? No," Jim blurts out.

She can't leave. Not tonight.

"I mean," Pam starts again. "If it's weird that I just showed up. I can go. I'll get a room at the EconoLodge or something."

Jim cocks his head to the side and frowns incredulously.

"Okay, first of all, no you cannot get a room at the _Scranton EconoLodge_. My brother stayed there with his wife once. There was a crack in the ceiling that had been patched up with a used Band-Aid."

Pam looks at him with wide, horrified eyes.

"Ew," she concludes.

"Yeah," Jim replies. "And secondly, this isn't weird." But it is and they both know it, so he keeps going. "I mean, it's fine. It's more than fine. I'm glad you're here. I mean, I'm not glad that you're already feeling sort of hungover, but it's great to see you. I mean…"

_SHUT UP! Stop rambling. Idiot,_ he berates himself.

Pam lets out a pained moan and buries her face in her palms. He panics. Did he weird her out? _I'm glad you're here_._Yeah. That sounds great, Jim. I'm so happy that you're fighting with your boyfriend—no, fiancé—because it means that I get to stare at you all night._

"It's always like this. I hate the spins," she mumbles into her hands.

Relief floods through him. Of course. She's moaning because she's feeling the effects of a night of heavy drinking, not because of anything he's said. Thank god. Then he thinks about what she just said and how she phrased it, and he gives her a curious, teasing sort of smile.

"Is this a regular occurrence, Beesly? Get wasted on El Nino margaritas until the room spins?"

"No!" she denies immediately.

He grins at her defensiveness and she sticks out her tongue at him.

"The last time was like two years ago," she insists. "At Roy's brother's birthday."

When she says Roy's name, conversation screeches to a halt and they both remember why she's here in the first place. The silence is heavy. He looks down in his lap for a few seconds before turning hesitantly towards her.

"So, you're fighting with Roy?" he asks, hoping the question sounds conversational and not prying.

"Yeah," she tells the pot on the floor. "We got into a fight in the parking lot."

"About what?" he prods, because he has to know.

"He just…"

She pauses and looks up at the far corner of the ceiling, as if it holds the answers to his query.

"Sometimes I think he doesn't care what I want," she says finally.

She continues to stare into the corner of the room, and he can tell she's thinking hard about something. He wants to tell her that she deserves better than Roy. That she's right; Roy _doesn't_ care what she wants and she deserves someone who does. He wants to tell her that he's so proud of her for not going home to him tonight and that she can stay here for as long as she needs to.

He opens his mouth and starts speaking without knowing exactly which of those thoughts he is going to voice.

"Well, it sounds like—"

"I don't want to talk about Roy," she interjects hastily.

"Okay," he replies.

There is another awkward pause, and thankfully the silence is broken by Mark, who chooses this moment to come back downstairs. He slings a small duffel over his shoulder and says a quick "See ya" as he walks out the door.

As the door shuts behind him, Jim decides that it's time to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

"Hey, remember that time you fell off a barstool in Chili's?" he asks, as if he's recalling a pleasant memory from years past.

"Shut up," she mutters, trying to hold back an embarrassed smile.

"Just fell right over!" he says gleefully.

He reenacts the fall from his perch on the couch armrest, allowing his body to tip over like a fallen tree, complete with a shout of "Tiiiiimberrrr!" He keels right over backward and lands face up, the top of his head just brushing against her leg as he hits the couch. She peers down over him, trying to communicate with her expression that she is not amused by his little show, but when he grins up at her she just smiles and shakes her head.

"I will never be able to get the image of a shirtless Dwight out of my mind," she groans.

"Oh, me either," he assures her, sitting up so that he's on the cushion next to her.

He should really move over to the far cushion. When there are three couch cushions and two people on the couch, you leave the middle cushion empty. That's just how it goes. Who sits like that?_Couples, that's who_, he answers himself. But he doesn't move.

"But I was _under_him," she reminds him, shuddering.

Jim can't help himself.

"That's what she said."

But Pam barely hears him. She's too busy reliving the memory. She speaks like a Vietnam vet recalling a horrible battle.

"When he couldn't get his shirt all the way off, his stomach was moving like… like waves. It looked like a pale, pale ocean," she says dazedly.

"Okay, if you keep going, _I'm_ going to need that pot," he warns her.

"It was almost as gross as Angela and her _cats,_" she says, spitting out the last word like it's a curse.

"Yeah?" he prompts.

"One of them has Feline Idio… Idiopatetic… Cys… Cysti… It pees everywhere," she blurts out, giving up on correct pronunciation.

She is so fucking adorable, even talking about cat piss. How is that even_possible_? He laughs a little louder than normal because he has this crazy urge to just lean forward and kiss her. She wouldn't stop him, he's almost positive. He forces himself to speak in order to keep his mouth otherwise occupied.

"Yeah. She mentioned something about removing urine stains before she left," he acknowledges.

"Did she also mention that she wears _goggles_ as she tends to them?" Pam asks, disgust evident in her tone.

Jim's eyebrows shoot up and he juts his face forward questioningly.

"I'm sorry, _WHAT_?" he demands.

She giggles, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. God, he's such a sap. She could throw up in the pot right now and he'd probably think _that_ was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Yup. All of them have conjuntiv…" She squints in concentration, but ultimately decides not to attempt that word tonight. "Pink-eye," she finishes.

Jim squints at her and poses a serious question.

"Pam, what kind of goggles are we talking here? Like swimmers' goggles or those huge ones from high school science class?"

She frowns.

"Is one better than the other?"

"No, but I need a complete image in my mind. It's _that_ amazing," he replies. And then an idea strikes him.

"Okay, wait," he says. "You are going to put that artistic talent of yours to use. I'm going to run upstairs, grab a box of crayons and some paper from my desk, and _you_ are going to draw a picture of Angela tending to her cats in _goggles_. I'd like two pictures, each with a different goggle type."

She can't even reply. She is overcome with silent laughter, so much so that she collapses into him. She buries her face in his chest and he almost dies on the spot. But then she's sliding further. She falls over his lap, her head resting on the empty couch cushion, her chest and stomach pressing against his legs, still shaking with inaudible giggles. Without thinking, he brings a hand down and buries it in her hair, grinning like a fool.

"Okay, on second thought maybe you lack the necessary hand-eye coordination for this task," he concedes, still grinning so hard it hurts. "We'll wait till morning."

She manages to push herself upright again, and he can't help but feel a bit disappointed at the loss of contact.

"Oh my god!" she gasps between laughter. "You have crayons in your desk? Are you eight?"

_What?_He laughs out loud, because she's _so_ drunk and he kind of loves it when she busts on him like this. Besides, he knows it's just because she's had a few too many._It's totally normal for a twenty-six year old guy to have crayons. Right?_

"My nephew visits sometimes," he says defensively.

"How often?" she asks skeptically.

"Like twice a year," he admits, and she cackles a little. "Okay, you know what, Drunky? You are in no position to judge."

"Do you like to color, Jim?" she asks mockingly. "Do you have a SpongeBob coloring book?"

He pretends to be mortally offended.

"No, Mark has the SpongeBob coloring book. Mine is Strawberry Shortcake," he explains.

She snorts with laughter and he almost dies when she swings her feet up onto the couch and stretches out, laying her legs across his lap and leaning her back against the arm of the couch. His hands go automatically to her knees, gripping them ever-so-gently. She tilts her head back and sighs happily.

They just sit like that for a moment, and Jim thinks that he'll be perfectly happy if they don't say a thing for the rest of the night. They can just fall asleep like this and the night will have been perfect.

"Angela thinks we're going to sleep together tonight," she says absently.

His legs jerk so violently that it makes her knees bounce up and she looks at him questioningly.

"I told her no, that I might want to spend the night in Chili's with you, but not for sex. We're just best friends," she continues. Then she pauses, because he still hasn't responded. "Right?" she asks.

_Okay, Jim. Focus. What was the question? Will I have sex with you in Chili's? YES. Wait, no. That wasn't the question. Oh god, why did she have to put any of these images in his head. Oh! Are we best friends? That was the question._

"Yeah. Of course," he says. He is desperate to get things light again, because he absolutely cannot handle this topic of conversation and keep his promise to Angela.

"I mean, not that we could spend the night in Chili's. Seeing as how you got a lifetime ban," he adds.

Her eyes widen and she looks surprised.

"Oh no! Did I? How did that happen?" she asks.

"Are you really that upset to be banned from _Chili's_?" he asks incredulously. "I _promise_ I'll take you somewhere nicer than Chili's. You'll see it's no great loss."

She gives him a mischievous smile.

"You'll take me out to dinner?" she teases.

That smile. Is going. To kill him.

"Oh, uh no. Not like… I mean, maybe on our lunch break we can go somewhere or…" He stutters for a moment before shaking his head.

"Hey, listen," he continues. "You are… somehow _way_ more drunk then you were when you left Chili's."

He's about to suggest that they just go to bed, separately, of course, when she giggles again.

"I like being drunk," she admits like it's a secret.

"Oh,_do_ you? Why is that?" he asks, trying and failing to keep the flirting edge out of his voice.

"Because then I can do things and it's okay because I'm drunk," she replies.

He frowns.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

She sits up, and leans in very, very close. She cups a hand over his ear and whispers to him.

"I kissed you."

Normally he would have melted into a puddle and slipped between the couch cushions at this moment, because Pam is whispering seductively in his ear. But all he can feel is hurt and sort of angry.

Because she is going to write this off as a drunken mistake. She's happy to do so, in fact. Whereas he wasn't drunk, and he enjoyed every millisecond of that kiss. It meant everything to him, and she just thinks it's so great that tomorrow they'll pretend it never happened.

Did she do it on purpose? Did she think to herself, now's my chance to kiss him and blame it on the drinking, without thinking at all about how it would affect him? And if that's true, then how long has she wanted to kiss him? Oh god. She was happy she kissed him.

_No_. He stops himself from celebrating, because the fact of the matter is that she wants to forget it in the morning. It doesn't mean anything _real_ to her. He _loves_ her, he's sure of it. Is this just some sort of meaningless flirtation for her? Something she just wants to get out of her system one random drunken night?

"You should go to bed," he says quietly.

He can't look at her, but he can feel the confusion in her voice when she replies.

"Okay."

"You can take my bed. I'll go change the sheets," he says, pushing her legs gently off of his lap and standing.

"No, I'll just stay here," she says.

He knows that she's trying to get him to look at her, but he refuses to oblige.

"Don't be ridiculous. It'll just take a sec," he says, before practically running up the stairs.

He leaves her feeling stunned and confused on the couch.

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What did she say wrong? She wracks her brain for an answer, but suddenly the spins are hitting her harder than ever. She doesn't think it's just the alcohol that's making her nauseous, either. Jim is mad at her. It's the worst feeling in the world. All she wants to do is make it better, but she's having trouble reasoning out a course of action, or even what she did to land herself in this mess in the first place.

All she said before he got mad was that she was happy that she kissed him. That was a good thing, right?

An awful thought occurs to her. Maybe it wasn't a good thing. Maybe he was horrified that she kissed him. She tries to remember his reaction to her kiss, but she can't. She was so drunk and happy and wound up that she didn't even look at him to gauge his reaction after the kiss. She just sat back down at their table, grinning like an idiot.

Oh god. Of course he wouldn't be happy about that. He's a decent guy. She's engaged. Oh! And he's dating Katy. Ugh. The purse girl. He has a girlfriend and she just threw herself at him and kissed him and now she's spending the night, and he's probably just too polite to say anything, but she's totally freaking him out. She was practically lying on top of him on the couch, and she was definitely flirting.

She tries to remember the last time she felt so stupid and so crappy, but she can't. She stands and wavers a moment. Once she regains her balance and her vision stops swimming, she slowly makes her way to the stairs. She leans on the banister like it's a safety robe and climbs them carefully, one at a time.

He's in his room, her back to him as he leans over the mattress to pull up the old sheets.

"I'm sorry," she says softly.

His shoulders tense. He deposits the sheets in a pile on the floor and starts unfolding the clean ones.

"For what?" he asks, not bothering to turn around.

She just wants to cry.

"You're mad at me," she says pathetically.

He sighs and throws the fitted sheet across his bed. He answers her as he tucks the first corner under the mattress.

"No, I'm not," he says robotically.

He still isn't looking at her. He's moving on to tuck in the other corners.

"You are, and I'm sorry if I messed up your night by coming here," she replies earnestly.

He spreads out the top sheet without replying. She feels a tear roll down her cheek. He finally turns around after a long pause and when he does, he immediately zeroes in on the tear. His face softens instantly.

"Come on, I'm always happy to see you," he says softly.

"Then why are you mad?" she asks, and her voice cracks halfway through.

"I'm not," he says firmly, turning back around and spreading the comforter out over the bed.

"Is it because I kissed you?" she demands.

He spins around and when his eyes meet hers they're burning.

"No!" he says resolutely.

She must look as unconvinced as she feels, because he keeps talking.

"Pam, you were… _are_… drunk. It wasn't a big deal. Don't worry about it."

He smiles. _Smiles._ Reassuringly, like she spilled his coffee or something and he wants her to know it's okay.

"It wasn't a big deal?" she repeats, frowning.

"Seriously, don't worry about it. Tomorrow morning I'll make you breakfast and make fun of you again for falling off your barstool and things will be totally fine," he promises.

She looks away and has to concentrate really hard on not crying. She knows that she should be glad that he's going to let this slide. This could have completely screwed up their friendship and she should be thankful that tomorrow things will be back to normal.

"Yeah. Do you have anything I can wear to bed?" she asks numbly.

He points to the middle dresser drawer, telling her that she can pick out anything from there.

"Okay, so… goodnight, I guess," he mumbles, making his way to the door.

"Goodnight," she whispers.

He turns to go, and she can't stop herself. This is the Chili's parking lot all over again. She can't chicken out this time.

"Wait, Jim," she hears herself say.

He turns back warily, and she takes a deep breath. She freezes with her mouth open and fumbles.

"Thanks. For everything," she says, cursing herself for doing this a second time in one night.

"Sure, no problem, Beesly," he says, turning back to the doorway.

"No wait," she calls out.

He turns again, and she sighs in frustration. Why is this so hard? Thoughts of Roy and Katy are spinning through her head and she finally speaks.

"Um, goodnight," she says.

_DAMN IT!_ She wants to scream. Isn't being drunk supposed to make this easier?

He smiles like he did earlier that night when he told her that "Thank you" wasn't really a question.

"I_think_ we already said that," he replies.

"Oh. Right," she nods.

She hates herself. He turns away a third time, and she decides, screw it. She's going to do this if it kills her.

"Jim," she calls out again.

Turns back, smirking.

"Do you need me to get you a glass of water?" he asks. "Check for monsters under the bed? I usually make Mark do that for me."

But this is no time for jokes. He's already letting it go back to normal, and she can't do that yet.

"If Roy and I weren't… If we weren't together…"

She takes a deep breath, trying to ignore that her heart is racing and her hands are trembling.

"Pam, you're drunk. Stop," he warns her.

He looks terrified, but she _can't_ stop.

"No, I want—"

"Come on, I promised Angela I'd take care of you," he begs her.

She's embarrassing him. She needs to just stop. This night has been such a mess. But she can't stand that he brushed off the kiss like it meant nothing. Like it was forgettable. Because she might have been drunk, but she would never regret that kiss.

But you know what? Maybe he's lying. Maybe the kiss meant a lot and he's just telling her what he thinks he has to say because it's noble or because it's what he thinks she wants to hear.

There's only one way she can think of to find out. Somewhere in the back of her mind it occurs to her that testing him this way is cruel. That this is a very, very bad idea. But all of her thoughts are sort of jumbled and all she can focus on right now is her desperate need to know how he really feels about that kiss.

She crosses the room and stands in front of him. He looks so scared as she brings her right hand up to his face. She rests her thumb on his cheek and her fingers land whisper soft on his neck, right under his ear. He allows her to pull his face down as if he's lost all power to resist. His eyes slide shut on their own accord. She leans in slowly and brushes her lips across his for a brief second.

She pulls back almost instantly and this time she makes sure to observe his reaction. His eyes are still closed. He looks like someone put him on pause. Pam starts to get worried that she broke him somehow, when finally he exhales.

"What was that?" he asks in a ragged whisper.

"A goodnight kiss," she says anxiously. "No big deal right?"

He looks at her like she just slapped him, and she doesn't know what do to.

"What the hell, Pam?" He spits it out like an accusation, and she reels back.

"It doesn't matter, right? I'm drunk?" she asks nervously.

She made a mistake. This was a bad idea. He's mad. Is he mad because he doesn't want her to kiss him because he has a girlfriend and she has Roy, or is he mad because it means something to him? But then she doesn't care why. She made him mad, and she feels awful.

"Did you just do that because you're drunk?" he demands.

He's so angry, so serious right now that it scares her. She has never seen Jim this way before. She wants to answer his question, just to make him not mad anymore. What was the question? Oh, right: did she kiss him because she's drunk.

"No," she replies honestly. "Jim, I just needed to know—"

But she's cut off by his lips. She gasps and arches toward him. His arms are around her, and his palms are flat and hot against her back, pulling her so close that there is absolutely no space between their bodies. She opens her mouth without thinking and he immediately takes advantage, running his tongue along the edges of her lips before dipping into her mouth. She's thankful that Jim is holding her so tightly because she's pretty sure she'd be on the floor otherwise.

This kiss is so different from the first two. All she can focus on is the sensations of his mouth on hers and the heat surging through her body. It has _never_ been like this with Roy.

_Never_.

Then just as suddenly it began, he pulls away. He grips her shoulders and pins her with his gaze and she realizes that he is still _very_ angry.

"_That_ was a big deal to me," he snarls. "When you kiss me, it's a _big deal._ So the next time you want to get drunk and have fun so that you can write it all off the next day, don't come looking for me. I don't want that."

He storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

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End Notes: New research suggests that reviews can help end the writers' strike!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks to SixFlightsUp and uncgirl for beta'ing! It's no small feat. These chapters are gettin' long!

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She sits numbly on the edge of the bed. _His_ bed. Her heart is still racing and her eyes sting, and before she knows it tears are streaming down her cheeks.

She got herself in this mess. She knows that. She wants to blame it all on the alcohol, because she knows that none of this would have happened if she weren't drunk. But she also knows it doesn't really matter why it happened. It happened. Now she has to deal with the aftermath.

And he's just… _so mad_.

She's never seen him even a little bit mad before. It was awful seeing that kind of anger on his face. Is he still going to be mad in the morning? Of course he will be.

Oh god… Is he even going to be friends with her anymore?

Suddenly she feels like she can't breathe. She takes a couple of deep, shaky breaths, and wipes her eyes on her sleeves. She can't possibly think about this anymore. It hurts. It aches somewhere behind her ribs, an actually physical ache.

And then there was that last kiss. She can't even think about what _that_ means.

She just has to go to sleep and pray that in the morning he'll forgive her. She goes over to his dresser and pulls out an old Philadelphia Eagles T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that she knows will be huge on her. She's shaking so badly that she has to sit on the edge of the bed to get changed.

She huddles under his comforter, swimming in things that smell like him, and tries to ignore the fact that she may have just completely ruined the best friendship she ever had. She drifts into a fretful sleep.

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He's almost positive that his heart is going to hammer right out of his chest. His feet pound fast and heavy on the stairs as he escapes to the living room, propelled by pure adrenaline. He doesn't bother getting a blanket from the hall closet; there's no way he's going to sleep tonight.

He throws his dead weight onto the couch and balls his hands into tight fists. He let's out a huge, shaky breath and leans his whole body forward so that his closed eyes are pressing onto his fists and his fists are pressing onto his knees.

_What did I do? _

He sort of rocks like that for a few seconds while the same thoughts revolve in his head.

_I grabbed her and kissed her. I just fucking __grabbed__ her and kissed her. I kissed her and yelled at her. I scared her and then I just ran. Jesus, what the hell did I do? _

He's still so angry with her because yeah, she was drunk, but she was just_ teasing_ him. What the hell was she thinking, just kissing him like that, like it was no big deal when she knew, she _had_ to know, that it nearly killed him. Is this all just a joke to her? Does she _know_ and think it's just some funny little crush?

But regardless, he can't believe how angry he'd let himself get. He could have brushed it off, let it slide because she was drunk, but he didn't. He'd just grabbed her and scared her and oh yeah, she's _engaged_. How will he be able to look at her in the morning?

It's only a little after 12:30, so he turns on Conan and tries not to think about the fact that he may have just ruined whatever he had with Pam. He doesn't laugh once, despite the fact that Conan does an "In the Year 2000" skit, which is his favorite thing. He stares blankly at the screen and tries to ignore the panic that continues to seize him.

When Conan is over, he watches a repeat of The Daily Show. He can't help replaying everything that happened before he kissed her.

She was saying something right before… What was she saying?

'_Jim I just need to know…' _

Know what? That he is completely head over heels in love with her and he's pathetic enough that an innocuous goodnight kiss from her can absolutely _destroy_ him? He tries to stop this train of thought, because he's getting angry all over again.

By the time Jon Stewart signs off, he's basically numb. He doesn't want to think, and he can't sleep, so he spends the next hour or so to trying to find the least annoying infomercial.

He finally settles on a terrifying Jason-like mask that you put on and hook up to a nine-volt battery to shock your face into looking younger. He immediately thinks, _Oh my god, I have to tell Pam about this. _And then he remembers. _Oh yeah._

He hates his life.

She wakes up less than two hours after she first closed her eyes. Her whole face hurts from crying and her eyes feel puffy and swollen. And she still feels like the worst person in the world. But on the plus side, she doesn't feel drunk anymore and the spins have stopped. She doesn't even have a headache, really, which is kind of amazing.

She flicks on the lamp on the nightstand and sits up. Her eyes scan his room. She's never really seen it before, and she certainly wasn't taking mental notes earlier tonight when she first came in. He has a guitar. Hmm. She didn't know he played. Some books. Some posters. His desk. It's right next to the bed. She pulls open the drawer nearest her, and there are his crayons, sitting right on top.

She suddenly feels a small flicker of hope in her chest.

After successfully finding a piece of paper (Dunder-Mifflin ultra bright white everyday-use inkjet) she settles herself at his desk and gets to work. It only takes about twenty minutes to finish her masterpiece, and she decides that she has to leave it downstairs on the coffee table so it's the first thing he sees when he wakes up. It's the best way she can think of to put him in a better mood before he sees her.

She tiptoes down the hall, but when she comes to the stairs, she sees bluish light coming from the living room, and she can hear the TV. As she rounds the corner into the room she sees a terrifying serial killer mask on the screen. It takes her a second to realize it's an infomercial and _not_ a horror film.

Jim is clearly awake and watching whatever this is. He hasn't seen or heard her, and now she has a choice. She can chicken out and run back up the stairs, or she can stay and try to smooth things over tonight.

It's doubtful that she'll have the courage to bring any of this up in the morning. She really needs for things to be normal between them tomorrow. She can't stand the thought that their friendship is irreparably damaged, so she hesitantly pads over to the couch and stands behind him.

"Wow. What _is_ that?" she asks conversationally.

He jumps and spins around. He looks startled and unsure of how to react. She begs him with her eyes.

_Please just act normal_.

He nods, as if he's made a decision for how to proceed.

"That would be the Rejuvenique Mask," he states.

Pam barely holds back a sigh of relief. She turns back to the screen, where a woman is trying desperately not to jump as the mask repeatedly shocks her.

"Is its purpose to melt your face?" she asks.

Jim doesn't smile, but there's a hint of mirth in the corners of his mouth.

"Very possibly, but I'm not sure because I've only been watching for a few minutes," he replies.

She notices now that he's still dressed in his work clothes and there are no pillows or blankets on the couch.

"Have you been awake this whole time?" she asks with a note of concern.

He shrugs nonchalantly.

"Yeah. This couch isn't exactly the most comfortable thing."

She knows that he hasn't even tried to sleep, and that the comfort level of the couch has nothing to do with his being awake.

"Well, it's no futon," she comments.

"Yeah, I've heard those things are really popular with girls your age," he replies without missing a beat.

She smiles and feels for the first time like maybe they'll be okay. She comes around the edge of the couch and sits, careful that she's not too close.

"What's that?" Jim asks.

She realizes that he's talking about the folded piece of paper in her hand and feels momentarily flustered.

"Oh, um… I made it. For you," she stutters.

She holds it out and he takes it warily. As he unfolds it, his eyes get wide. Slowly, a smile grows on his face. Pam exhales, feeling her nerves calm. He is Jim again.

His eyes scan her dual drawings of a miniature cartoon Angela tending to her cats. On the left, she wears large safety goggles; on the right, swimmers goggles.

"Okay, the safety goggles are totally better," he decrees.

"Totally," she concurs.

They are both quiet for a second, smiling lightly as Jim continues to examine her drawing. She focuses on his smile, his lips, and with a sudden rush the memory of their last kiss comes back. She inhales a bit too sharply and he throws her a curious smile.

_He's smiling. He's not mad right now. It's time to try to make things normal again_, she tells herself.

"Jim. About earlier tonight…"

She swallows hard and pauses for a moment to collect her thoughts, when Jim interrupts.

"Pam, let's just… not," he says softly.

His expression is sad and pleading, but she knows they have to talk about this.

"No, I mean… I really just want to say, you know… I'm sorry and—"

"Pam, seriously. Let's just let it go," he interrupts again. This time his voice is harder and so is his expression.

She frowns.

"If we don't say anything now, it'll just be this… _thing_ that we both remember but don't talk about. It'll be weird," she says earnestly.

Jim looks away and sighs impatiently.

"We'll just pretend it never happened," he says. "Isn't that what you wanted? To wake up tomorrow and just pretend tomorrow that none of it ever happened?"

He's looking at her again. He doesn't seem outwardly mad, but she can feel the tension radiating off of him.

"I really think if we just talk about it, it'll be less weird," she says meekly.

"Really? What part of kissing me three times tonight will be less weird if we talk about it?" he snaps.

Her heart makes a mad dash for freedom. She can feel it pounding somewhere up in her throat, because _oh my GOD, _he just actually _said it._ She's suddenly very aware that she's wearing his clothes and sitting alone with him on his couch in the middle of the night.

_Okay, Pam. Focus. Breathe._

"Well, I mean… Okay, so that stuff happened. But it was late and I was drunk, and—"

He sighs angrily and she rushes to amend herself.

"I'm not saying that I just did it because I was drunk," she says.

"Did what?"

There is a challenge in his question.

"Jim," she protests feebly.

"You can't even say it," he says, shaking his head.

She looks down at her hands and takes a deep breath.

"Okay, fine. I didn't just _kiss you_ because I was drunk," she says quickly. "There were… other reasons. I mean, it's totally normal for feelings to develop."

Jim's eyes get wide, but then narrow again in mock curiosity.

"Oh, really?" he asks.

Pam can't help feeling like she's being cross-examined. Jim seems almost predatory in his responses.

"We work together every day. We're best friends. It's only natural that there might be some general sort of feelings that…"

She trails off when he rolls his eyes.

"What?" she demands.

"This is why I don't want to do this. I don't want to talk, because you don't really want to _talk_," he says.

"What does that mean?" she asks defensively.

"You just want to talk about it so you can explain it all away."

Pam opens and closes her mouth a few times but only indignant scoffing comes out. She can't come up with a defense.

"That's why I say let's just skip the talk and tomorrow morning we can pretend that we explained it away a hundred percent. Save ourselves the trouble of coming up with rationalizations," he plows ahead.

Pam is stunned. He thinks she's just lying? She admitted she has feelings. What more does he want?

"I'm not making this up," Pam says angrily. "I _am_ being honest."

"Really?" Jim asks, skepticism dripping from the word.

"Look, you're dating Katy. I'm engaged. So maybe there are these feelings, but they're just…"

He looks at her, feigning serious attention. He's nodding in mock agreement like an eager student at a lecture, and she grits her teeth.

"They're just… They don't really _mean_ anything," she says firmly.

He tilts his head back and let's out an angry sigh. He looks at the ceiling, as though commiserating with it when a shrill tone pierces the silence.

They both jump, and it takes Pam a second to realize that it's her cell phone. Her eyes dart around the room, trying to remember where her she put her purse. She sees it on the floor by Jim's feet and gestures feebly at it.

She expects him to just hand her the purse, but instead he pulls it up into his lap and opens it. He finds her cell immediately on top, so it isn't like he's digging through her personal belongings, but the fact that he's in her purse at all strikes her as shockingly intimate. He pulls out the phone and checks the caller ID.

"Roy," he says in a resigned tone, like he was expecting this.

She waits for him to pass her the phone, but he doesn't. It's ringing for the fourth time and he's just staring at it. She can't figure out what is taking him so long when a horrible thought occurs to her.

_Oh my god. He's going to answer it. _

Her mind races. What will she do if he answers the phone? Why would he want to answer it in the first place? What is he planning on saying? How would she fix whatever he said?

_What the __hell__ is he doing?! _

The fifth ring comes, and she panics.

"Jim!" she blurts out, eyes wide.

He seems to break out of whatever trance he was in, and he robotically thrusts the phone toward her. Heart still hammering, she flips it open.

"Roy," she says.

It's not much of a hello, but she's still thinking about how she would have explained that she's spending the night at Jim's. Plus, she remembers, she's still mad at Roy. That's how this whole mess got started in the first place.

"Baby, where are you? I just got home from the bar and you're not here."

He sounds slightly drunk. Moreover, behind the note of concern in his voice she can hear annoyance.

"You just got back?" she asks.

She hadn't even realized when Angela pulled into her driveway that Roy's truck wasn't anywhere in sight.

"Yeah. It was awesome, Pammy. They had dollar pitchers and Darryl totally went home with this chick with a boob tattoo."

He sounds like a little kid talking about a fun day at school.

"That's _great_, Roy," she mutters, not trying to keep the disgust out of her reply.

"So… where are you?" he asks, apparently just remembering the reason for his phone call.

Her eyes dart to Jim. He is staring darkly at the coffee table as though it has badly insulted him.

"I, uh… I went home with Angela," she stutters, trying to ignore way Jim shakes his head ever-so-slightly. Whether it's in disappointment or anger, she's not sure.

"What? Why?" Roy asks.

Pam feels her face getting hot as she recalls the way Roy grabbed her arm in the parking lot. She feels herself getting irritated all over again.

"Because,_ Roy_," she begins harshly. "I didn't want to have to deal with you tonight."

Jim starts to turn toward her, but catches himself and pretends that he just picked this moment to a casually survey the room. His eyes flutter from thing to thing in an almost comical attempt at forced-casualness.

"Oh come on, Pam," Roy says bitterly. "You're not still mad about the stupid Dundies, are you?"

Jim sneaks another glance at her and she stands up and makes her way to the kitchen. She knows that he will still be able to hear her there, but at least she won't be distracted by his reactions.

"It's not about the Dundies, Roy!"

She wants to shout it, but she's in Jim's house and he's in the next room, so she takes a seat at the kitchen table and settles for an angry whisper.

"It's about you not even asking me what I wanted and just deciding that we were both going to leave."

"Yeah, but babe, _Angela's_ house? Doesn't she have a cat that pees everywhere?"

Pam pauses and frowns.

"How do you even know that?" she asks.

"She came down to the warehouse once to ask Darryl what the best disinfectant for animal urine was. And she brought that weird guy with the glasses as a bodyguard."

It's funny, but Pam is determined to stay mad and refuses to crack a smile, even though he can't see it.

"Well, I don't smell any pee, and I'm tired, so…"

Her voice trails off and she waits for him to say a gruff goodbye, but instead there's an extended pause.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked you if you wanted to leave."

Pam is shocked. He actually sounds sorry. Usually when he apologizes he sounds like a child being forced to make nice, but this is sincere. And that's when it hits her.

She cheated on Roy tonight.

Well, two chaste kisses that she instigated and one very _not_ chaste kiss that she didn't start but certainly didn't stop.

_Oh my god. I threw myself at another man tonight._

What right does she have to be angry with Roy at all? She feels like the worst sort of person. The horrible guilt starts clawing at her insides and she struggles for something to say.

"It's fine. I'm…"

She takes a deep breath, trying to clear her head. What is she doing here? She has to go home. This is so wrong.

"Anyway, I'm glad you stayed," Roy starts, interrupting her thoughts. "We needed a rep to accept our Dundie. Gotta defend the title!"

She can picture him grinning, and all of the guilt she was feeling dissipates into extreme annoyance. She has to concentrate hard on not snapping at him when she replies.

"Actually, we didn't get our usual award."

"Awww, man!" Roy whines. "What was it?"

"It doesn't matter," she blusters. "You actually wanted to win 'longest engagement' again?"

"Yeah!" he replies with a laugh. "It's hilarious, Pam!"

She can't stop herself.

"You think it's hilarious that all of my coworkers are laughing at me?" she asks heatedly.

"They're not laughing at _you_! They're laughing at the joke!" Roy says like he thinks she's crazy.

"Yeah, Roy! The joke is our engagement!" Pam shouts, forgetting for a moment where she is.

There is a deadly pause.

"So our engagement is a joke to you?" he demands.

She rolls her eyes, because of _course_ he misinterprets her.

"To some people," she replies curtly. "Not to me."

"Oh, so _I_ think our engagement is a joke?" he shouts.

"You've had us push back our wedding date twice, and now we don't even _have_ a date! _That's_ why it's a joke, Roy."

"What, so you want me to pick a date? Fine. June 3rd," he declares.

Pam can't believe him.

"You don't even know if that's a weekend! You're just saying it to calm me down and a month from now you'll say June is too soon," she accuses.

She hears him let out a frustrated sigh.

"What do you want from me, Pam? Because I don't get it!"

_Obviously_, she thinks.

"You're right. You don't get it," she replies.

She pauses, because… Will he ever get it?

Whenever she imagined getting married as a little girl, she never imagined having to nag the groom into setting a date. She never imagined the romance being gone before they even said 'I do.'

"Maybe that's the problem," she says absently.

She thinks of Jim. She can't help it. She can't help thinking that if Jim was in Roy's position, he'd not only have a date picked out, but he'd actually be _happy_ to help her plan the wedding. She knows it's ridiculous and wrong and awful of her to compare her fiancé to her best friend like that, but it's too late.

Roy's voice breaks through her inner turmoil.

"Look, I'm still kinda drunk. Can we do this in the morning?" he says gruffly.

"Yeah. That's a good idea," Pam says, only half in the conversation anymore. She's absorbed with her own thoughts.

She told Roy that she wanted to live in a house with a terrace and he laughed at her.

"Babe, I love you, all right?"

Jim would never laugh at her for that.

"Good night," she says abruptly.

She shuts the phone immediately, and tries to sort through the mass of thoughts whirling through her brain.

She thinks of all the times Roy has made her cry in the last month. She thinks of all the times that Jim has made her laugh. She thinks about how Roy yelled at her last week because she tried to discuss floral arrangements with him when he was watching the game. She thinks about how it's been forever since he has bought her flowers, or told her she looks beautiful, or asked her how her day was without her prompting him first.

She is terrified by the sudden realization that she may have fallen out of love with the man she is supposed to marry.

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Jim hears her phone conversation get increasingly heated until she is yelling in the middle of his kitchen. He hears her say things like, "The joke is our engagement," and before he knows it he's on his feet and moving toward her.

Before the phone rang, she told him that she had feelings for him. Granted, she said that they developed as a simple result of proximity, because they see each other every day. She said that those feelings didn't mean anything, but he knows the truth now. She feels something for him, and she just needs to tell herself certain things to keep some semblance of order in her life.

He finds himself at the threshold to the kitchen without consciously deciding to move there. Suddenly he's only a foot away from her and she's saying goodbye to Roy. His fingers seem to move independently, because before he can stop himself, they brush lightly against her shoulder.

She turns slowly, because of course she knows it's him. He realizes he's holding his breath. He doesn't know what he's going to do or say, but he just needs to look at her.

When her eyes meet his, she looks so raw and open that it shocks him. There are no walls up. No cameras to intrude. Her eyes are wide and glassy and she's breathing a little hard. She's staring right at him, but he can tell she's a million miles away. What is she thinking?

She's at a breaking point, he knows it, and he has to do something. When he speaks, it's the quietest whisper.

"Pam. Please..."

His voice is rough and almost pained. He means so many things with that please.

Please leave your deadbeat fiancé. Please be a little less amazing so I can stop loving you. Please kiss me again. Please stop hurting me. Please can we pretend for tonight that you aren't engaged? Please be honest with me, just this once.

But then her eyes are wet, and he can't stand to see it, so all he says is,

"Please don't cry."

The tears continue to fall, and he's at the table and in the chair next to her without a moment's hesitation. Her head falls on his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. He hates that Roy does this to her. How many times has he found her with puffy eyes after a fight with that asshole? How many more times does it have to happen before she realizes how wrong he is for her?

"I'm so sorry," she mumbles into his dress shirt.

"For what?" he asks softly.

"For everything."

He rubs her back gently and shakes his head.

"They were both really innocent kisses, Pam. Don't even—"

"They were mistakes. I'm with Roy," she interjects robotically.

She is motionless in his arms.

"I know that," he says.

She doesn't reply, but she still hasn't moved, so he pulls back to look at her.

She looks so completely miserable. He hates Roy more now than he ever has.

"Do you really see yourself marrying him?" Jim asks without thinking.

He expects an automatic, "yes," but he's surprised by her response.

"I always did."

His heart jumps a little.

_What?_

"Do you still?" he prods.

She looks away, somewhere in the direction of the saltshaker on the kitchen table.

"Everyone gets cold feet," she tells the saltshaker.

He feels his frustration getting the better of him.

"They get cold feet before the wedding. You don't even know when the wedding is going to be. He hasn't set a _date_, Pam," he snaps.

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he knows he's gone too far. She raises her eyebrows a little and turns further away.

He can't stand the silence. He wishes she would either yell at him for overstepping his bounds or make some excuse to leave the room; anything to stop this awkward silence. But she is perfectly quiet. She seems to be contemplating something deeply.

He supposes he should start apologizing before she regroups, sort of a preemptive strike. She's already said she's sorry, and he hasn't apologized for anything he's done tonight.

"I'm sorry that I grabbed you and… you know," he says lamely.

Her eyes shoot back to his, and he's startled by the challenge he sees in them.

"Grabbed me and what?" she asks.

He knows exactly what she's doing. She wants him to say it, just like he made her say it.

"I'm sorry I grabbed you and kissed you," he replies, ignoring the way his heart races when he says the words.

"I'm not," she says bluntly.

He frowns, but before he has time to formulate a response, she's looking at him like she did before in his bedroom. Before she gave him that goodnight kiss.

She leans forward, escalating his fear into a state of absolute panic. He watches mutely, frozen in place as she reaches up to run a hand through his hair.

"No," he says suddenly, jerking out of her grasp.

She looks confused and hurt.

"You can't do this to me again, Pam," he says desperately. "This isn't just… this isn't just a crush for me, okay? This isn't something that just _happened_ because we see each other every day. This is real."

She meets his eyes again.

"I know," she says.

"It's not a game. It's not just some random impulsive mistake for me. And if you do this again, you can't ask me to forget it in the morning. I won't be able to pretend," he warns her.

"Okay," she whispers, nodding resolutely.

He waits for her to tell him they should both just get some sleep, but she's not moving away. In fact, she seems to be leaning in closer.

"I don't," she says.

He frowns, but doesn't pull away.

"You don't, what?" he asks, and his breath moves the soft wispy hairs around her forehead.

She leans in until her lips are next to his ear.

"See myself marrying him anymore," she whispers.

Before he can reply, she turns her face and for the fourth time that night, her lips are on his. It's not angry or rushed like their last kiss.

It's not brief and teasing like the ones before it.

It's perfect.

Her lips are so soft, and they move agonizingly slowly against his. Her fingers are playing with the hair on the nape of his neck and massaging the skin underneath, and he couldn't pull away now if he wanted to. He feels her tongue dart out and sweep feather light across his lower lip, and he groans against her mouth. She smiles in response, and she does it again. This time he opens his mouth and their tongues meet.

He sees stars.

He's honestly amazed he hasn't blacked out at this point, because Pam is still smiling against his lips and her fingers are still combing through his hair. He realizes suddenly that his hands are resting stock-still on her back, and instantly they spring to life. He moves them up to touch the hair that he thinks about constantly. He manages to snap open the clip pinning it back without looking. He buries his fingers in her soft curls and can't help it when his kisses become more frantic and heated.

She moans and he just about dies on the spot.

Any reservations he has about what she meant about her feelings being real, or what she's going to tell Roy tomorrow fly from his mind. He loses himself completely and he has no idea how long they've been kissing when her hands gently push on his shoulders. He reluctantly allows his lips to part from hers, and as he pulls back he has to blink a few times before he can focus on her.

She's smiling.

He did _not_ expect that.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before speaking.

"Let's talk," she says.

_Talk_? About what? After that kiss, he feels like talking is highly overrated.

"Really_ talk_," she adds.

Oh.

_Oh!_

She wants to _really_ talk. Not to come up with excuses. Not to explain things away. To really _talk_. She's ready.

"Let's go over to the couch," she suggests.

She's already in the living room before he snaps out of his daze and manages to lift himself from the kitchen chair.

They're really going to do this.

_Oh my god._

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Thank so much for your reviews! Please continue reviewing, as studies have shown it can help prevent global warming.

In appreciation, I drew an approximation of Pam Beesly's amazing Crayola rendering of Angela and her goggles, but I can't figure out how to post a link.

UPDATE: Cookies go to That'sMyFiasco for giving me two solutions in record time. Okay, so here is the link (just delete the six spaces I put in) and if that doesn't work (or if you prefer a simple clicky click instead of a copy-paste), I've linked to it in my profile.

http://s12 .photobucket. com/albums/a217/shan 21non/?acti onview&cu rrentGog gles.jpg

Remember, Pam was supposed to be drunk at the time. And also, I have very little artistic talent.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks so much to Cousin Mose, for totally rocking the beta! And thanks to all of you who have reviews.

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She watches him make his way over to the couch. He looks absolutely stunned, dazed like someone who's just been through an earthquake or something.

The comparison strikes her as fitting, because in a way, they _have_ been through an earthquake. When they were in Jim's bedroom earlier tonight it certainly felt as though the very ground beneath their feet was trembling. They have pulled and tugged each other, been tossed around by circumstance, and just now it seems like everything has come to an abrupt halt. At this point they're tiptoeing around gingerly, waiting for the dust to settle, trying to figure out what the damage is and how to rebuild.

She's so caught up in her own extended metaphor that she barely notices when he takes a seat next to her on the couch. In fact, she doesn't look at him until he speaks.

"You look… _very good_ wearing my clothes," he says in a voice that she's never heard from Jim before.

It's almost like his regular work-time voice, all fun and teasing, but there's something else there, something that makes her cheeks burn. His voice is sort of grumbly, if that makes any sense, and his eyes don't stay on hers, which is new. For a moment his eyes make a blatant sweep of her body, which makes her heart jump.

His eyes don't linger; they meet hers soon enough, but she's suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that his T-shirt is actually pretty thin and the sweatpants are way too loose to be safe.

"Oh, yeah? You think I should make this a regular thing?" she asks, trying to keep her tone light.

It's only once it's out of her mouth that she realizes that it sounded pretty suggestive. He smiles at her with a little questioning squint, as though she just asked him whether he thought breathing was a good idea.

"Is that even a question?" he asks.

There's that damn voice again. It's _amazing_.

"Yeah? Just throw on one of your ties and buttons-downs and a pair of your slacks for work on Monday?" she asks, again trying to steer the conversation back to safe ground.

Jim's smile grows and his forehead does that wrinkly thing it does when he raises his eyebrows.

"Absolutely," he says.

"Okay," Pam replies, nodding as though _of course _she's going to do that on Monday.

"You know, I think you'd look good in some of _my_ stuff," she adds helpfully.

Jim doesn't miss a beat.

"I'm_so_ glad you said that, because you have this brown skirt that I've been meaning to ask you if I could borrow."

She lets out a laugh as she exhales and shakes her head. Because they can still do this. She was afraid for a moment that Jim's new sexy voice was going to make their usual banter impossible, but it's back.

Then suddenly he takes her hand and the laughter dies on her lips.

She tries to keep the anxiety off her face when she looks at him. The reason for their move to the couch comes back to her.

They're really doing this. This is _the talk_.

She takes a deep, slow breath in and carefully lets it out, steeling herself for the conversation.

"This is big," she says quietly.

"Yeah," he exhales.

"No, I mean, this... is huge," she reiterates, trying to communicate just what this moment is to her.

"I know," he tells her, smiling.

Smiling?

_Oh. _

Of course he's smiling. This moment is big for him in a totally different way.

She knows he's probably feeling happy and scared. Happy to be here with her, and scared because everything is changing and he doesn't want to screw it all up.

She feels the same, but there is so much else mixing with that happy-scared feeling.

She has a vague feeling of loss, like a kind of grieving, because she's saying goodbye to a lot. She feels sort of detached from reality, because it's not actually done yet. Roy has no idea that she's made this enormous decision that affects the rest of both of their lives.

But she also feels like this is all a little surreal because… she's only ever been with Roy. Her entire adult life and much of her adolescence was spent with him, and if she throws that all away, what do those years mean anymore?

"This is me saying that the last 10 years of my life were a mistake," she says.

Jim stops smiling immediately and he opens his mouth, but seems to be at a loss for the right thing to say. She looks away, down at the hand that he's still holding. They just sit there for a minute and she feels terrible, because this feels all wrong. Jim gets her better than anyone, but they're sitting on the same sofa, holding hands, and she feels miles away from him.

A single word from him brings her back to the present.

"No," she hears him say.

She manages to tear her eyes away from their clasped hands and meet his stare. He looks suddenly sure of himself.

"This is you saying that you aren't going to let the next 10, or 20, or however many years be a mistake," he says firmly.

She feels unshed tears flood her eyes immediately, because of course he has found the perfect thing to say. It's so important for him not to think that she threw away those ten years with Roy, and she's not quite sure why, and he somehow _gets it_ without her having to say anything.

She nods and fights hard to keep any of the tears from falling.

"Yeah," she says.

When she's sure she isn't going to cry, she continues.

"I couldn't tell him over the phone," she explains. He hasn't asked, but she wants him to know.

"Actually, I didn't totally know I what I was going to decide until right after we hung up," she admits.

"What finally made you decide?" he asks gently.

_Good question_. She doesn't know quite how to explain, so instead she says,

"I want to live in a house with a terrace."

He must think she's crazy, but he doesn't say so. Just looks a little confused when he nods.

"Okay," he says, waiting for her to continue.

"Not a veranda or a wrap-around porch. A terrace. On the upper level, coming off my bedroom."

She waits but he's still waiting or her to explain herself. She doesn't want to explain. She wants his honest reaction without her having to tell him she's comparing his reaction to Roy's. So she watches and waits.

He may not be saying anything, but she studies his face. Not a hint of a smile. He seems confused, but not annoyed or amused. He's not laughing. Still, as the silence continues she can't help feeling dumb for bringing it up.

"I know it's stupid. They don't even make houses with terraces in Scranton," she says dismissively.

Now he frowns.

"It's not stupid. We could just call a contractor," he says matter-of-factly.

She should be focusing on the fact that not only did he not laugh, but also he actually supports the terrace plan, but instead all she can think is…

_Oh my god, did he just say 'we'?!_ He apparently realizes what he said about a second after she does, because suddenly he's backpedaling.

"I mean, _you_ could," he says hastily. "_You_ could just call a contractor.

Watching him panic like that makes her smiles because he's just… _so perfect_. Jim doesn't seem to notice though, because he continues to ramble.

"I mean, it can't be too hard, right? Some plywood, some nails… maybe some nuts and bolts…"

He trails off when he notices that she's shaking with silent giggles.

"You're_very_ handy, aren't you?" she teases.

He looks momentarily flustered, but quickly recovers.

"Did my extensive knowledge of construction tools tip you off?" he asks.

Pam nods.

"Well, I don't usually like to brag about that sort of thing, but yes. I am extremely butch and manly," he admits. "Last week I put together a CD rack all by myself, and I only lost three necessary pieces."

Pam tilts her head.

"Is it that slightly crooked CD rack over there?" she asks, gesturing to the corner of the room.

"…Yep," Jim says sheepishly.

She grins at him, when suddenly a very important thought occurs to her.

"Katy!" she blurts out.

"What?" Jim asks.

"You're dating Katy," Pam says, as if she is pointing out a previously unknown fact.

"It's not serious," Jim says immediately. "In fact, I can end it tonight if you want."

He lets go of her hand and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Pam asks, resting her hand on his forearm.

Jim looks at her like she's insane.

"I'm going to break up with Katy," he states simply.

"You're going to call her up and tell her _over the __phone_?" Pam demands.

Jim frowns.

"No…" Jim says slowly. Then, very quietly he adds, "I was going to text her."

"Jim!" Pam shouts.

"What?" Jim asks, putting his hands up in surrender.

"You've been dating her for like… four months!" she replies.

"I told you it wasn't serious. It was like… we'd maybe go out once a week. _Maybe_," he protests.

She gives him a look that is meant to communicate extreme disapproval.

"So I'm guessing email is out as well?" he asks.

"Jim!" she warns.

"I'm kidding!" he recants. "But seriously, the thing with Katy was… it was just a distraction. I always knew it wouldn't work out."

"Because she's so unattractive?" Pam suggests.

Jim lets out a small, surprised laugh.

"Yes," he agrees. "And also because last month she wanted to see The Dukes of Hazard."

Pam's eyes get impossibly wide.

"And in June it was Must Love Dogs," he adds.

"Oh, Jim," Pam sighs.

She shakes her head lightly to express her sympathy. He milks it, giving her puppy dog eyes, which just about kills her. She sighs and scoots a little closer to him.

Casually, like they've done this a million times, he puts an arm around her and a second later she's tucked into the crook between his chest and his arm, her head resting peacefully on below his neck.

She wants to enjoy the moment, but instead she finds herself wondering how many times he and Katy sat like this.

_Stop it. It doesn't matter. _

But for some reason, it does. She was so jealous of Katy. From the moment that girl stepped into the office. And every time she called to speak to Jim. And when they were leaving for the day and Pam casually asked him what he was doing after work and he say he had a date. She explained it away at the time as not wanting to share her best friend. Platonic jealousy. It was how she could go home to Roy at night and not feel too guilty.

Thinking of Roy again makes her stomach flip. Without realizing what she's doing, she starts playing with her engagement ring, spinning it around and teasing it up from the base of her finger, down to her knuckle, and back up again.

It's Jim who alerts her to her activity. He lowers his index finger and lightly touches the small diamond. She freezes as he gently pulls her right hand away and holds it in his own. They both stare at the ring.

"He bought it at Sears," she says. "Six months after he proposed."

She lets out a quiet, bitter laugh.

"And I paid half," she adds in a mumble.

She buries her face in his shirt and feels him lean forward.

"It doesn't matter," Jim whispers, and she can feel his breath on her ear.

She still feels like an idiot. She has a lot of affection for Roy still, because he wasn't all bad and they've been through a lot together. She will always have a special connection with him.

But how could she have ignored so much? How could she let so much slide? Maybe it was just simply that it wasn't completely_terrible_. He wasn't abusive or cruel. He just wasn't _right_.

Slowly, she removes her right hand from his and reaches back to the ring. Grasping on tightly with her thumb and index fingers, she begins easing it down to the tip of her finger. They are both watching the ring's progress down her finger and thinking the same thing: It feels almost impossible that she's taking it off for good.

She hesitates when the gold band comes to her fingertip. She suddenly feels as though that she can't possibly move it any further. Something has stilled her hand, and she can't bring herself to take it all the way off.

Suddenly his lips are on her neck.

She gasps and rolls her head back onto his chest, baring more of her neck to him. His lips travel from the space right below her each down along her neck to her clavicle. She can't believe this is happening.

_Oh god._

His tongue darts out for just a second, and she forgets that she's holding a ring at all. She reaches her right hand up to cup the side of his face, pulling him up to meet her lips. She doesn't notice when the small gold circle lands in her lap, or when she shifts so that she has better access to his mouth and it falls to the floor.

It's only when he grabs her left hand that she remembers, and she breaks away from him abruptly. She panics for a moment when she realizes that she doesn't know where the ring went. It's Jim who points it out to her. It has rolled just under the coffee table.

She pulls away from him and picks it up.

"I have to have it to give to him tomorrow," she says hastily.

She can't stop herself from staring at it again, because it's the symbol of everything she's letting go of. She stares at the tiny diamond. A fifth of a karat. She told Roy that she didn't really care about the ring, and as soon as he heard that he picked out the smallest solitaire he could find.

She shakes her head again, because really, how could she be so blind?

"Hey."

His voice prompts her to look up at him. She fears that he is going to say something about the ring. Some dig at Roy for getting her something this chintzy. She really can't take that right now. She doesn't want to be told that she's wasted the last ten years.

"You are _not_ stupid for having loved him," he says firmly.

"How did you—"

She breaks off, unable to complete the thought. She tears up again, which she hates because she's normally not this girly. But how did he know? How does he always say the right thing?

"He just… he just didn't get you, Pam," he continues.

She can tell he wants to say more, but she's thankful that he doesn't. She sniffles once, and regains her composure.

"Yeah. Well, you were totally stupid for dating Katy," she quips.

He does his usual thin-lipped smile, eyes wide.

"Oh, really?" he asks.

"Yeah. So wrong for each other," she continues, smirking at him.

"Yeah?" he prompts, like he's hearing something surprising and eye-opening.

"Totally. She's the cheerleader type, Jim," Pam replies matter-of-factly.

Jim laughs.

"Oh, come on," he says incredulously.

Pam raises her eyebrows at him, posing the challenge.

"Ask her tomorrow. I'll bet you anything she was a cheerleader in high school," she suggests boldly.

He gives her a look that clearly suggests he thinks her idea is a joke.

"How would that work?" he inquires skeptically. "Hi, Katy. Listen, um, we're going to have to break up. See, I'm dating Pam now. You know Pam, right? Beesly. Yeah, the receptionist, that's the one. So, have a nice life, I guess. Oh! And, by the way, did you cheerlead in high school? What's that? Fuck off and die? Okay then. See you around."

Pam rolls her eyes, but she can't hide her smile.

"Okay, fine. Don't ask her," she concedes.

"What do you have against cheerleaders anyways, Beesly?" Jim asks. "All they do is spread cheer. It's in their name."

"That's not all they spread," Pam mutters.

Jim's eyes meet his hairline.

"Whoa!" he exclaims, grinning widely.

"Oh… I said that out loud," Pam muses.

Jim cocks his head to the side and gives her a look, so she begrudgingly continues.

"I guess the problem was _who_ she was spreading her cheer for."

"Oooh. So you were jealous?" he smirks.

She feels her face and neck grow hot.

"Like you weren't," she challenges.

"Of_course_ I was."

He says it so matter-of-factly that she sits there speechless for a second. It shocks her just how open he is with it now. Why does she still get red and panicked about admitting her feelings and he can just say it?

Then it occurs to her that they really haven't _talked_ about their… relationship? God, it sounds so weird to think of them that way.

"This is sort of weird," she reflects aloud.

"Yeah," he says unthinkingly. Then he seems to realize what he just agreed to because he adds, "Wait, what?"

"I mean… I haven't actually even _said_ it to you," she explains.

"Said what?" he asks.

She checks his face to see if he's just teasing her again, but he honestly doesn't seem to know what she's talking about.

"You know, that I… that… I like you that way."

As soon as it comes out, she curses herself because it sounds so ridiculous.

"Pam," Jim begins, his voice very serious. She turns to look at him.

"Do you _like me_, like me?" he asks.

Her face is hot again.

"I hate you," she replies.

"Wait, I want to send you a note. You can just circle yes, no, or maybe."

He reaches out for something to write on and grabs her drawing of Angela. She slaps his hand.

"Don't you dare deface my art!" she warns him.

Jim drops the drawing and backs away from her a little.

"Whoa. Violent. What exactly am I getting myself into here?" he says mockingly. "I feel a unsafe in my own home. I might need to—"

Pam doesn't ever find out what Jim might have needed to do, because she cuts him off with a kiss. It's sweet and lingering, and his hands come up to rest in her hair halfway through. She grins as their lips part, and rather than pull completely away from each other, he sort of buries his face in her hair.

"I am _so_ in love with you," he sighs happily.

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He knows immediately that something is wrong. Whereas a moment before she was smiling and gently gripping his shoulders, now she's tense and motionless in his arms. He pulls pack to look at her, and her expression is one of utter shock.

"What did you say?" she asks in a whisper.

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Cliffhanger! Oooooh...


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This bit was unbeta'ed, but Cousin Mose gave me a ton of guidance as to how to end this fic, so I'm still gonna thank him lots!

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He knows immediately that something is wrong. Whereas a moment before she was smiling and gently gripping his shoulders, now she's tense and motionless in his arms. He pulls pack to look at her, and her expression is one of utter shock.

"What did you say?" she asks in a whisper.

Jim racks his brain. All he remembers is the feeling of her lips on his. Did he even _say_ anything?

Then it comes back to him with a sudden clarity.

_'I am _so_ in love with you_.'

He frowns, because why should that provoke such a terrified response?

_It's true. I love her. I mean, isn't that what we're saying here? That we love each other and that we want to be together? _

But another look at her face, still frozen in panic, tells him that isn't what she was saying at all. He feels like he wants to disappear, or die, or possibly just invent a time machine and go back to thirty seconds ago.

She doesn't love him.

All of the air leaves his lungs.

Of course she doesn't love him. They haven't even _actually_ started dating yet, right? You aren't supposed to already love the other person before you start dating. That develops as you go.

It's not like she was the one pining over him for all those years. All she admitted to was having 'feelings.' Some meaningless little attraction that poked at the edge of her consciousness but that she managed to ignore for the most part. That wasn't love. That wasn't what he felt for her. He could never ignore it.

He realizes that his mouth his hanging open, and that she's still waiting for a response. "Listen, don't uh…." He can't think of anything to say, so he pauses to regroup.

_Okay. So she doesn't love me. That's okay. She wants to be with me. She will very possibly love me someday. It's okay._

Only it doesn't feel okay. It feels absolutely horrible. Still, he has to say something to her soon before she completely freaks out and decides that this whole relationship isn't a good idea.

"Don't worry about that. It just… came out. I didn't mean, like, literally that I love you. I mean, people just say that, you know? It's not…"

He's grasping at straws, trying to act like taking what he just said at face value is ludicrous, but his nervous rambling is unconvincing.

"Do you, though?" she asks.

Her eyes meet his warily, like she's dreading his answer. He wants to tell her no; that of course he doesn't. That would be crazy. They haven't even gone out on a date.

But he knows he can't lie. He wouldn't be able to keep that up. He wouldn't be able to pretend that he was anything other than completely, head over heels in love with her. He wants to be able to tell her. Just once. And if that scares her away, then, well, she never really wanted what he wanted anyway.

"Yeah," he whispers, not quite looking at her. "I'm sorry if that's weird for you to hear."

"No, it's…"

He gets up the courage to look at her again, and what he sees makes him wish he didn't.

Her eyes are wide and her brows are drawn together in concern. Her head is slightly tilted to the side and she's struggling for a way to respond. She looks sorry for him. She looks like the girl who is trying to let the boy down gently.

He can't handle that. He doesn't want her pity. He doesn't want her to have to explain to him that she likes him, but not to that degree, not yet.

So he stands abruptly, and he looks away because his eyes have begun to burn and he'll be damned if he's going to embarrass himself even more by crying in front of her.

"I'm gonna go to bed. I'll just grab a blanket."

His voice sounds dead, but he doesn't care. He figures that a trip to the hall closet will give her a chance to clear out without any more awkward conversation. But when he returns with a blanket, she's still sitting there.

When she hears his approach, she looks up, startled. Her eyes travel from his face to the blanket.

"This is ridiculous," she says.

He feels his world crumbling. She wants to end it before it has even started.

"You can't sleep here. Look how tall you are! Your feet will be hanging off the end," she continues. "I'll take the couch. You take your bed."

He inhales.

_Oh thank god._

He knows that he should be a good host and refuse, but he doesn't want to argue about it. He's embarrassed and ten kinds of confused and hurt. He just wants to get out of there as quickly as possible before he does something else to screw things up.

"Yeah, sure. Okay. See you in the morning."

He deposits the blanket on the couch and escapes up the stairs.

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He's been upstairs for a while now, trying to sleep and failing because he has trouble ignoring the fact that she was lying in this exact spot, _in his bed_, not two hours ago. It's the kind of thought that only a guy who is hopelessly in love would get so caught up on, so much so that sleep would be impossible.

In love.

Ugh.

Why did he have to say it? Why couldn't he just lie? Now that she knows, she'll be jumpy and uncomfortable in the morning. He knows Pam, and Pam is not a leaper. She's a baby-step-taker. For her to do something as big as take off her wedding ring was almost unbelievable. He should have taken extra care to keep all of his pronouncements at a baby-step level.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

When he's not beating himself up for carelessly admitting his true feelings, he's beating himself up over the fact that she doesn't return those feelings. What if he turns out to be a rebound? What if her feelings never develop to the level of love?

There is a gentle tapping at the door.

Jim freezes. It can only be one person.

"Come in?"

He says it like it's a question, sort of hoping that he just imagined the knocking. A second later, however, he sees her silhouette against the light flooding in from the hallway.

"Hey," he says, sitting up so that his back is resting against his headboard.

"Were you asleep?" she asks, squinting into the darkness of his room.

He clicks on his bedside lamp.

"No," he confesses.

She seems to fumble for something to say for a moment, before she finally speaks.

"You really need to get a futon. That couch is awful," she replies, resting a hand on the doorframe.

He frowns. Is _this_ what she came up here to say?

"Uh, then let's switch. Here, I'll just—" He breaks off and swings his legs around to plant his feet on the floor.

"No, don't," she says quickly. "I, uh…"

She pauses for a moment, hesitating half in and half out of his bedroom. Finally, she makes her way over to his bed. She perches herself carefully on the edge of the mattress next to him and sighs deeply, as if bracing herself.

"I feel like we left things sort of weird downstairs," she confesses. "I can only imagine what you've been thinking."

"No, I wasn't… I mean, it's fine. If you don't—I shouldn't have said—I mean—"

He is thankful when she cuts off his nervous bumbling.

"This isn't some fling for me."

He turns to look at her in the soft light from the lamp. She is staring straight ahead, looking solemn and determined.

"Okay," he replies, waiting for her to continue.

"This isn't even just me finding someone funny and nice to spend time with. This is serious. I mean, I take this, between us, seriously," she explains.

She takes a deep breath before adding, "I don't see this… I'm in this for as long as you are."

What does that mean? She must know how long he's in this for. He told her he loves her, for god's sake.

"I'm in it for—"

He catches himself just before the word 'forever' escapes his lips.

"I'm never going to be the one to end this," he recovers.

It's not exactly a baby step, but it sounds a little less scary than forever, he hopes. He can't scare her away again.

She nods, still looking straight ahead.

Nods.

Like she knew he was going to say that.

So does that mean… Is she in this for forever too?

"I never really let myself think of you like this until tonight," she says. "I couldn't. The feelings were there, but I had to pretend they weren't."

She takes another deep breath, and finally turns to look at him directly. She takes his hand in hers and looks at him imploringly, begging him to understand.

"You've had time to let this all play out to that point in your mind, but I just… I haven't," she says. "It's all too new."

He starts to form a reply, something about how he knows that he sprung that on her too soon and that he's sorry, but then she's speaking again.

"Just because I can't say it doesn't mean I don't feel it," she states.

_Oh._

He feels his heart jump just a little, and for the first time since he came upstairs, there is a lightness in his chest.

"Just… give me time. Okay?"

She gives his hand a squeeze after her last statement.

It's as close to a declaration of love as he's going to get tonight; he knows that. And that's okay. That's Pam. A big declaration tonight would be out of the question. Baby steps.

While he's busy feeling relieved, she slips into the bed without him even really noticing.

"Is it okay if I sleep here tonight? That couch really is pretty uncomfortable," she says.

It's only then that he turns and sees her snuggled under his covers. The sight makes his heart start up again like a marching band.

"Yeah, of course," he replies, standing.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

He frowns.

He was going to the sofa. Surely she didn't mean…

"I thought…"

He trails off helplessly. She gives him a look that clearly communicates her disapproval, raised eyebrows and all.

Very cautiously, as if there is a landmine under the bed, he crawls in beside her. His mind is whirring. Should he sleep with one leg off the bed, on the floor? Should he sleep above the sheets? Should he just pin himself to his side of the bed and apologize profusely if they touch accidentally?

Then she grabs his right arm and pulls it snugly across her waist, effectively spooning herself against him like he's a human cocoon.

He could die happy right now. Instead of dying, though, he rests his chin on her shoulder and smiles against her neck.

"You know… if Angela asks me on Monday if we slept together tonight, I'll have to say yes," he mumbles into her skin.

"Not if you value your limbs, you won't," she retorts.

"See, there are those violent tendencies again," he complains.

She turns as far around to face him as their embrace will allow and gives him a peck on the nose.

"You're such a dork," she says, and he can hear the laughter in her voice.

Jim doesn't know if it's legal to be this happy. He makes a mental note to ask Dwight on Monday.

They fall asleep wrapped up in each other.

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End Notes: Thanks so much for sticking with this fic. There is just one more chapter, and it's an epilogue… from Angela's POV at work the next week.

Also, the latest Gallup poll has revealed that a staggering 99 percent of Americans feel awesome when they get reviews for their fanfic. The other 1 percent were distracted by some distant sound and misheard the question.


	6. Epilogue

A/N: So this is it, folks. Thanks for sticking with it.

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Angela Martin feared the worst.

She made a tenth checkmark in the margins of the reimbursement request on her desk.

Normally she wouldn't deface company documents, but there was absolutely no chance in Hades that Michael's request to be repaid for the purchase of a dozen novelty hats would be approved, even with his justification that, "they totally killed at the Dundies."

But back to the matter at hand.

Jim had been to reception _ten times_ and it wasn't even eleven o'clock yet. It was a new Pam Pong record.

Angela had half a mind to ban Jim from his latest foray into the jellybean dish. As safety officer she knew that eating that much sugar was dangerous to one's health. Just as indulging in that much unashamed licentiousness was dangerous to one's eternal soul.

Gritting her teeth, Angela pressed down so hard that the tip of her pencil broke. She sighed angrily and tried to put Pam and Jim and whatever seedy dealings had undoubtedly transpired last Friday night far from her mind.

But then the sound of Jim's voice floated over the partition between their desks, and she could not avoid hearing their brief exchange. Although Jim was whispering pretty softly and Angela _may_ have discreetly crept directly next to the cubicle divider and tilted her ear upwards. Possibly.

"So I know we've been avoiding talking about this, but I gotta know. How'd it go yesterday?"

"It was fine," Pam replied after a brief pause.

"Fine?" Jim prompted.

Angela heard Pam sigh.

"It was horrible. But it's done," she said finally.

There was another pause. Angela could here the sound of Pam's chair shifting. What was horrible but done? The creases in her forehead doubled in intensity as she imagined the possibilities.

"Hey," Jim said in a comforting tone.

"Not here," Pam whispered.

Another pause.

"How'd it go for you?" she continued.

"You were right," Jim replied. "She was a cheerleader in high school."

Angela frowned. Who was a cheerleader?

"Oh my god, you did _not_ ask her!"

"I had to know!"

"Oh, Jim."

"But anyway, I powered through and ended it. I just had to be aggressive."

Another pause.

"Jim." Pam's voice had a warning tone.

"Be. Be. Aggressive," Jim added, as if doing his own cheer.

Angela rolled her eyes.

"You're terrible," Pam retorted, but she sounded amused.

"I was very nice about it."

"I'm sure."

Another pause.

"Hey, Pam?"

"Yeah?"

"You're out of jellybeans."

"Well maybe if someone wasn't wolfing them down like a hyperactive eight-year-old we wouldn't have this problem."

"There you go calling me an eight-year-old again. And by the way, I demand more coloring tonight."

_Coloring_? Angela shuddered to think what that could be a euphemism for.

"Fine. Go back and do some work. I'll refill the candy dish."

"Byeeeeeee," he replied, drawing the word out in a childish way that made Angela nauseous.

"Bye," Pam replied sweetly.

Angela slipped back into her desk chair just as Jim reappeared on the other side of the partition.

It was at this point that Angela decided that she absolutely had to determine conclusively what happened on Friday night.

However disgusting the conversation she had just overheard was, it had only added to her suspicions. If she was partly responsible for marital infidelity, she had to know, if only so that she could pray for her own forgiveness and for her coworkers souls.

On second thought, their souls were pretty much a lost cause so it would pretty much be just for forgiveness.

And so it was that the next time Jim wandered off to use the restroom, Angela darted to the kitchen. And when Jim reemerged from the men's room, she blocked him before he could exit.

"Um, hi Angela," he said, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

She eyed him with extreme distaste, unable to keep her nostrils from flaring with an irritated sniff. She realized after a moment that she was just glaring in the direction of his chest, huffing angrily, but not asking him anything.

"Hey, so I'm just gonna go back to my desk now," Jim said awkwardly, gesturing toward his destination.

"Did you honor our agreement?" Angela managed to whisper urgently.

Jim frowned and tilted his head to the side slightly.

"I'm sorry, we had an agreement?" he asked, a smirk teasing his lips.

"Don't be coy, Jim. Not every woman in this office finds the deviant boyish act charming," she hissed.

Jim seemed taken aback, but quickly recovered and threw the camera an amused glance.

_Idiot_.

He hadn't given her an answer, so she decided to be more direct.

"Did you convince Pam to engage in acts unbefitting a married woman?"

Jim's eyes flew to the camera again, but this time he looked slightly panicked.

"Angela, you wanna keep it down?" he bit out, trying to regain his composure.

"Did you sleep with her?" Angela demanded, keeping her voice at a whisper.

She pinned him with a stare that oozed disapproval. He looked back toward his desk and then somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen counter.

"No," he muttered.

Angela frowned.

"Look at me when you say that," she ordered.

"What?" Jim balked.

"You looked past me when you said 'no.' If you were telling the truth you would meet my eyes," Angela explained shortly.

Jim met her eyes this time, and he gave a heated reply.

"This is ridiculous. I don't need the third degree."

He started to move past her, when Angela felt her heart speed up. She had to know! She had to know if she had been the facilitator for something as horrible as adultery. Guilt had been eating away at her all weekend.

She should have shoved Pam out of her car and left her comatose body in Roy's driveway. Or she should have driven Pam to her own place, feline conjunctivitis be damned, and let Pam sleep on her couch. She should have done anything but what she actually did.

Dear lord! She left a drunk and clearly amorous woman on the doorstep of an untrustworthy doe-eyed rogue!

Her panic overtook her, and she heard hysterical words begin leaking from her lips.

"If you did anything, I am—I am partially responsible!" she started tremulously. "I can't be responsible for breaking up an engagement, Jim! I can't!"

And then to her horror, Angela felt her face crumple. She barely noticed when Jim put his hands on her shoulders, and she barely heard his own panicked attempts to quell her emotional display.

"Shhhh, shhh, shhh. It's fine, Angela. Look at me. Angela?"

Finally, a light shake from him brought her back to the present, and she realized that she was behaving very unprofessionally. And that Jim had his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't touch me," she spat.

Jim sighed angrily but let go. When she met his eyes again, she saw a level of concern and sincerity there that she had never seen before.

"We did not sleep together," he whispered, determinedly maintaining her gaze.

Angela just nodded, still blinking back tears. She stayed in the kitchen when Jim left; she had to be sure that she was completely poised when she returned to her desk.

Everything was okay. She would regain her composure, take those three minutes of unprofessional behavior out of her lunch break, and make it through the rest of the day without further incident.

At that very moment, Dwight entered the kitchen. He pulled a Baby Ruth bar from a bag in the refrigerator, and tore the wrapper off and tossed it in the garbage. It wasn't until he was about to leave that he saw her and stopped short.

"Who did this? Tell me the name, and I will make them disappear."

"What?" Angela muttered in confusion.

Then she realized that her nose was probably red and her eyes a little puffy, giving her away. Dwight continued to look determined and deadly.

"I'm going to get Mr. A. Knife," he said.

Angela frowned. What was he going on about?

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped.

Dwight looked so hurt that she actually faltered.

"I mean, that won't be necessary," she amended. "But thank you, Dwight."

When he smiled at her he revealed bits of Baby Ruth in his teeth, and all she could think about was how gentlemanly he was being.

"You're welcome. If you reconsider, I will be back at my desk, sharpening my nunchucks with my whittling tools."

Angela nodded. Dwight nodded back. It wasn't until he was back at his desk that she realized she was smiling.

Frowning immediately, she entered the ladies room to check her appearance. She did not want anyone else to find out she had an emotional outburst.

When she exited the restroom, Pam was in the kitchen waiting for her.

"Angela, Jim told me about what just happened between the two of you," she said. "I just wanted you to know that I'm really sorry I dragged you into this whole mess. And, uh, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this between us."

Then Pam threw a nervous glance at the cameras and brought her left hand up to tug at the charm on her necklace.

And that was when Angela saw it—the bare skin that should have been covered by a band of gold.

"Oh dear lord in heaven. You didn't!" she exclaimed.

"Didn't what?" Pam asked, bewildered.

"Where is the symbol of your commitment to Roy?" Angela demanded.

"What?" Pam asked dumbly.

"Your ring! Where is your ring?" Angela barked.

The camera zoomed in on Pam's left hand and Pam glanced around the room uncomfortably.

"Um, Angela, I don't really want to do this here," she murmured.

"I can't believe that you would throw away everything away for that scruffy-haired, juvenile, irresponsible…" Angela trailed off, unable to come up with an appropriate derogatory label for Jim.

"Nerfherder?" Pam suggested.

_What?_

"What?" Angela snapped.

"Nothing. Angela, look, let's… let's grab a coffee or something. I can explain," Pam pleaded.

"I don't think so, Pam. This concludes our friendship," Angela replied curtly.

"We… had a friendship?" Pam asked.

_Well, of all the ungrateful things to say._

Angela spun around and prepared to march back to her desk when Pam spoke up again.

"No, wait. Angela, please. Just, let me explain something to you."

Angela closed her eyes and counted to ten.

"Fine," she replied when she was finished.

After all, if Pam could just get whatever it was off her chest, then she could stop trying to talk to Angela, and they could sever their ties completely.

"You did not cause anything to happen that wouldn't have eventually happened anyway," Pam said earnestly. "If you had any part in this, it was just speeding up the inevitable. It was probably more painless that it happened now than it would have been if I'd waited until a month before my wedding."

Pam took a deep breath before continuing.

"So, thank you. And please don't feel guilty or anything. Honestly, you did nothing wrong."

Pam looked at Angela imploringly. Angela was almost touched that Pam was so concerned about how she felt.

"I don't need morality lessons from a tramp, Pam."

Almost.

Because really, who did she think she was, trying to be touching?

Pam's eyes widened, but then she nodded, as if she hadn't really expected a different outcome.

"But thank you," Angela added begrudgingly.

Pam smiled.

Angela sneered.

Once they had both returned to their desks, Angela managed to put the whole debacle from her mind for the rest of the day. It wasn't until five o'clock that she overheard another conversation between Jim and Pam that caused her to panic.

"Hey, Pam. You ready?" Jim asked.

"Uh, yeah. Just let me switch the phones over," Pam replied.

Angela hurried over to Pam and grabbed her arm.

"Please tell me that you are not leaving with him!" she whispered.

"Well, I don't have a car anymore. The truck is Roy's. Jim is sort of my ride," Pam explained.

"_I_ will take you home. Where are you staying now?" Angela asked.

Pam floundered for a moment, unable to reply. Finally she smiled sheepishly and managed to spit out a half sentence.

"Funny story…"

Angela tried to maintain her cool.

"Do_not_ tell me that you are _living with him_!" she exclaimed.

She failed.

Pam looked around to see if anyone had heard this outburst. Kevin glanced briefly in their direction, but was soon distracted by Michael, who put an arm around him as they walked out the door, regaling him with backstage tales from the Dundies.

"It's just until I find a place!" Pam replied quietly.

"Ugh. Unbelievable," Angela muttered.

"Look, Angela, I really have to switch these phones over so we can go," Pam said gently, tugging her arm out of Angela's grasp.

"Why? What are you in such a hurry for?" Angela asked accusatorily.

"We have a _lot_ to do," Jim interrupted, smiling widely.

"I don't want to know," Angela said, repulsed.

Pam shot Jim a warning glance.

"No, nothing like that," she interjected defensively.

"No. Just the usual Monday night activities: blaspheme, worship an idol or two, covet our neighbor's ass," Jim added, ticking the activities off on his fingers.

Pam rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep the smile off her face. Then she seemed to remember something.

"Oh! And buy a futon to replace your couch," she told Jim.

"Yes. And then off to the futon emporium," he confirmed happily.

Angela refused to dignify their irreverent banter with a response. Instead she sent them off with a very stern and disapproving glower. As they disappeared out the door, Angela returned to her desk to pack up her things.

"Some people do not understand the concept of professionalism in the workplace."

She jumped, unsure of who just spoke. Then she realized that Dwight was sitting at his desk, still packing up his things.

"No, they don't," she responded. "It's disgusting."

"I agree," Dwight replied.

"And it should be punished," Angela added pointedly.

Slowly, a smile crept across Dwight's face.

"Maybe it will be punished. Tomorrow. Perhaps the assistant regional manager will dole out a few demerits for unprofessional workplace ogling and hanging about," he suggested.

Angela straightened up and nodded approvingly.

"That would be very responsible of the assistant regional manager," she said, not bothering to insert the 'to the' that he forgot.

"Have a pleasant evening, Angela," Dwight said, nodding politely before he stood to exit the office.

Angela smiled.

"You as well, Dwight," she replied.

As Angela logged off her computer and slid into her jacket, she considered the concept of office romances. Surely they had the potential to be sinful displays of obscene wanton behavior, as Jim and Pam had proven. But…

Perhaps if the two individuals involved were responsible, hardworking adults instead of depraved, immature deviants… perhaps a secret office romance might be okay after all.

The next morning Dwight came in the office to find a Baby Ruth sitting on his desk.

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End Notes: Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it (and I hope you did) please leave me a review. I do so love reviews. I collect them and give them names and invent little personalities for them. Okay, I don't. But wouldn't it be creepy if I did?

Also, bonus points to any reviewers who can spot the nerdy reference in this chapter!


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